


Times Like These

by Ceriiae



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Fluff, M/M, One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-11
Updated: 2019-02-11
Packaged: 2019-10-26 04:49:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,095
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17739326
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ceriiae/pseuds/Ceriiae
Summary: Fluffy oneshot of domestic Drarry, unbeta-ed. My first Harry Potter fic! Lemme know what you guys think!





	Times Like These

It’s times like these, when Draco wonders how he could have ever gotten so lucky.

He’s staring at Harry’s face as the other boy sleeps, the two of them both snuggled comfortably in the warmth under the covers. Draco can feel his heart pounding wildly. Even now, even after a year and a half of dating, Draco still feels his pulse racing whenever he catches a glimpse of Harry. The excitement, the breathless passion, had never worn off, even after so long. Draco hopes that it never will. 

Harry’s face looks so peaceful in his sleep, a far cry from the constant worry etched in the boy’s face that Draco saw so much of the time. The war had changed him; it had changed them all, of course, but it hit Harry especially hard. Even now, so many years later, he has to bear the brunt of the burden as the Wizarding world begins the process of knitting itself back together. He’s their poster boy for a better future, after all. He has responsibilities to keep in mind, and speeches to make, and duties to perform; he has so many high expectations, piled on top of him. It makes Draco’s heart ache to think of all the pressure that Harry works under every single day of his life, excelling so wonderfully despite it, fulfilling all the requests and wishes of the Ministry and the public as a whole. Sit, stay, beg, fetch. When they tell him to jump, Harry asks how high. He does all that he is asked of, going to whatever charity party his presence is requested and making public statement after public statement on the state of the society, how the Ministry is working out of its corruption, how such and such new legislative reform is going to improve the lives of the people. It makes Draco sick to the stomach, to see Ministry officials and Wizengamot superiors using him to further their own agendas. Harry says to him that it’s just his duty, to do what he can to contribute the cause of rebuilding. Draco points out that most of these projects these Ministry official scumbags are asking him to help in are obvious fronts for currying favor for their own campaign. Harry just shrugs and says that if that’s what it takes for them to do something about Wizarding reform, he’ll do it. 

Really, it’s enough to make a man tear his hair out from frustration. Damned that Potter, always having to be some sort of Savior, always having to be so goddamn good for other people all the time. It’s no wonder that he doesn’t have the opportunity to stop and think about what’s good for him. 

All these thoughts are running through Draco’s head as he rests his head on his pillow, gazing at Harry softly. The other boy’s eyebrows are smooth instead of knitted together; his mouth is parted slightly as he breathes, the inhales and exhales reflecting some sort of inner calm that only reached him in unconsciousness. Draco can’t help but reach out a hand to trace Harry’s face, cupping his cheek lightly and stroking a thumb down the line of Harry’s nose, over his lips. The sensation isn’t enough to wake him; Harry only snuffles in his sleep and wrinkles his nose slightly. The sight makes Draco’s heart melt all over again. Really, he’s so over the moon for this boy, it’s ridiculous. Draco knows he’s utterly fucked, and he’s pleasantly surprised to note that he doesn’t particularly care. 

Perhaps the both of them have softened to some extent, Draco muses to himself, as his hand moves to brush away the stray hairs on Harry’s face and tucks them behind his ear. The both of them were healing slowly, after the war. Harry no longer startles awake at the slightest noise or touch, like he was prone to do the few months after the war had ended. The nightmares still remain and surface their ugly heads from time to time, of course, but that’s only to be expected. All of them have their personal demons haunting them, and that’s likely one of the things in life that will never change. But maybe that’s alright, too. Draco and Harry both know how to deal with their individual nightmares better now, and even if they don’t...well, they have each other with them. Somehow, that just makes Draco feel infinitely safer. He feels as if he could go through with anything, if he just had Harry at his side. It’s a ridiculous thought, silly perhaps, but with Potter next to him, Draco feels invincible. They’re still afraid, of course: afraid of the future, afraid of the past, afraid of the present, where they have to make so many difficult decisions while trying to recover from all the despair and destruction they had witnessed. They’ll never not be afraid, probably. But maybe that’s okay. Maye they can go through life anyhow, hand in hand, just the two of them, Harry and him. 

Draco knows he’s sporting the soppiest grin in the world at the moment, but in the privacy of their own bedroom, he doesn’t try to stifle it. Instead, he lets the feeling spread through his chest, like Firewhiskey warming his heart. He loves the boy sleeping across from him so much, so fucking much, there’s no proper way to express it. He doesn’t want to wake Potter, but he can’t resist the urge to pull him closer and press a gentle kiss to his Scar. Harry murmurs something underneath this breath as he shifts, but stays fast asleep with his eyes closed. Draco wants to live in this moment forever, wrapping his arms around Harry and feeling the warmth permeate through him, burying his face into the crook between Harry’s neck and shoulder and breathing in deeply, the scent of something warm and foresty and just so Harry filling his entire world. He wants for them to never leave this bed, this sanctuary of theirs, so he could protect Harry from everything and everyone outside that could hurt him. It’s not realistic, of course, that Draco would be able to protect harry from everything forever, but he feels the need, nonetheless. The boy had already suffered so much before he had even reached twenty. Didn’t he more than earn the right to be happy and at peace for the rest of his adult life? Definitely not, real life decided, and Draco wants to punch the universe in the face for even daring to think of such a possibility, much less execute it. Let the damned boy rest for once in his life, won’t you? 

The universe as a whole, of course, gives no answer. Draco sighs inwardly as he let go of the roiling anger in his stomach, he didn’t expect it to, after all. It is what it is, he reminds himself, though his inner second year whines at him that it wasn’t fair how somebody could suffer and suffer and continue on suffering without a break in between. Harry would argue that what he’s doing right now isn’t suffering, it’s recovering, but Draco won’t take that for an actual answer. Constantly overworking yourself to the point of exhaustion isn’t recovering. Constantly reminding yourself of the horrors and traumas of war isn’t recovering. If he had to knock Harry out in order for him to get a single day of rest in his wretched life, by god, Draco will do it in a heartbeat. 

Draco pauses. Not a bad idea, actually. Not the literal knocking him out part, of course, but perhaps keeping Harry home for a weekend would do some good for his health. Draco rolls over to the left side of the bed so that his feet touches the cold hardwood floor. As quietly as he can, he gets out from underneath the covers, grabs his wand from the top of the nightstand, and pads over to the calendar Harry had hung up on the wall of their shared bedroom, right next to the door. He whispers a quick spell underneath his breath and flicks his wand, watching as the calendar slowly unfolds to show their shared agendas for the week. He notes with a muted sense of satisfaction that Harry only had a lunch meeting with some irrelevant Wizengamot member today, and a benefit concert tomorrow, on Sunday. Both are events that he could skip out on without so much fallout, Draco thinks to himself, and taps his wand over the unfolded parchment. The tink ink words on the calendar disappear without so much as a trace, and Draco grins in satisfaction to himself before whispering a quick Tempus to check the time. 

5:10 AM. Ridiculously early in the morning, and yet, Draco can’t exactly fall back asleep with such ease. That sort of carefreeness had long been lost to the war; replacing it was a constant sense of bubbling paranoia under his veins and an eternally twitchy disposition.You need to relax more, Harry had always told him, and before, Draco might have snorted and dismissed his worries as insignificant. Now, however, he wonders if Harry had had a point. The war fucks people up, it does. Draco likes to think he isn’t as sensitive to the impact it had on everyone in their year, but perhaps he isn’t as impervious as he likes to think, either. 

They had a long way to go in their journey of recovery, Draco thought to himself. Even if they were making small improvements, it would be a long while before Harry and him could return to anything resembling normalcy. Draco suspected that neither of them had ever experienced a simple life in the first place, what with all the crap that had been forced on their generation of Hogwarts students. Bad luck, maybe, but it was that same bad luck that drew Draco to Harry, so maybe it isn’t so bad, after all. A few years ago, Draco would have never been able to even imagine that he would love and be loved by the great, untouchable Harry Potter, much less accept of the reality of it. But now, Draco can’t imagine a life without him. 

Harry stirred in his sleep, shifting the covers around as his arm shifts over the empty spot on the bed that Draco’s body was supposed to occupy. On finding that spot empty, the other boy seemed to awaken a bit more, making a sleepy questioning sound in the back of his throat. Draco melted all over again at the sight, that force of love and adoration hitting his chest and making his knees week. Oh, how he’ll love this boy forever. How does Harry even do it? 

The blonde smiles affectionately at Harry as he pads back to the bed, lifting up the covers and moving Harry’s arm aside so he could crawl back in. “Shhh…” He presses a finger to Harry’s lips, shifting a bit as he got comfortable, before replacing that same finger with his lips. The kiss was soft and chaste, a gentle press of lips as a greeting, Draco still smiling with half-lidded eyes as he pulled away. “Don’t worry, ‘m here.” 

“Mmh, it’s still dark out...what time is it, exactly?” 

“Around five or so.” Draco nuzzles into Harry’s chest as he gets himself comfortable under the covers again, curling into the warmth of the other boy. “Go back to sleep.”

“What were you doin’ up so early?” Harry murmurs wearily, lifting his head up weakly from the pillows for a second before letting it drop back down with a muffled oomph. 

“Watching you.” Draco grins privately into Harry’s collarbone and kisses it lightly. “You know you snore in your sleep?”

“No, I don’t…you’ve told me that last week, too...” Harry starts to protest, but eventually gives up on that endeavor when he decides to lean over and smooch at Draco’s forehead again. “...Mmh, whatever. Sleepy. You just have to deal with it.” With that, Harry yawns and closes his eyes again. 

“I suppose I do.” Draco sighs in exaggerated exasperation, though he has to fight the grin that’s threatening to creep across his face again. Damn Harry and his his uncanny ability to turn Draco into the soppiest person on earth. It’s all Harry’s fault he just can’t help but love him so much, Draco thinks as he slips back into sleep again. Wrapped in the warmth of his boyfriend next to him, Draco Malfoy was finally truly content.


End file.
